


Gentle Rumbling

by reindeerjumper



Series: Daddy Darcy [17]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Daddy Darcy, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Settling his glasses on his face, Mark started to read in a low, quiet voice. The rumble of his voice was soothing, vibrating with emotion and gentleness as he pulled Mabel in closer to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elletromil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/gifts).



> For elletromil's prompt "Ways you said I love you--with a hoarse voice, under the sheets"! It’s been a while since Daddy Darcy made an appearance. Couldn’t help myself…blame it on the pregnancy hormones.

Mark landed on British soil well past the midnight mark. He could feel exhaustion in every corner of his body, from the itchy prodding behind his eyes to the tense knot forming in his lower back. All he wanted to do was get home to his family. He had called Bridget a few hours prior to let her know that he was returning from the States, just to check in, and to tell her not to wait up for him. Bridget had chuckled into the phone.

“You know they won’t go to sleep knowing you’re coming home,” she had murmured down the line. Mark had smiled to himself as people bustled around him in JFK Airport. He knew perfectly well that his four and five-year-old would put up a holy hell of a fight once they found out he was on his way home, and he had to shake his head at his own naivety that putting them down for the night would be easy for his wife. Even during the phone call, he could hear them clamoring about in the background. It sounded like they had gotten into the pots and pans and had no qualms about making a glorious racket.

When Mark walked through the front door to the house, everything was quiet. Bridget had left the kitchen light on for him, but everywhere else was dark. Mark placed his suitcase on the floor of the foyer and quietly hung his overcoat on the hook by the door. He toed off his shoes underneath his coat and silently padded into the house. On the kitchen floor, there were still a few pots and pans from Will and Mabel’s concert, and he saw a note taped to the sink faucet. He smiled as he pulled it off and began to read it.

_M-_

_Leftovers are in the fridge. Not sure if you’re hungry–made chicken and rice. Feel free to warm it up before you come to bed._

_So happy you’re home._

_X,_

_B_

With a tug of the refrigerator door, Mark was greeted with a plate neatly covered in plastic wrap, and an already opened bottle of red wine with another sticky note attached to it. Mark grabbed the plate and the bottle as he read the second note.

_May have opened this earlier. Figured you’d want some too._

Mark smiled and shook his head affectionately. He popped the leftovers into the microwave as he poured himself a generous glass of wine. As the timer on the microwave counted down, he thumbed the first note in his hand, looking at Bridget’s mish-mash of spiky consonants and loopy drop-downs on her y’s and p’s. It was odd being in the house, knowing his family was waiting for him upstairs. It actually surprised him that Will and Mabel hadn’t come crashing down the stairs to launch themselves into his arms the second his key unlocked the front door. 

He opened the microwave door with a second to spare, not wanting the beeping to wake Bridget and the children up ( _if_  she had managed to get them to sleep in the first place). Taking the dish back to the counter, Mark sat at the island and quietly ate his leftovers and sipped his glass of wine. The tension from the flight started to dissipate from his shoulders, and he silently thanked Bridget for her foresight. 

By the time he finished, the exhaustion he had been keeping at bay hit him full force. He didn’t even bother washing the dishes, vowing to do it when he woke up. Instead, Mark dragged his bone weary body up to the master bedroom. He was very much looking forward to wrapping himself around his wife and falling into a deep slumber. 

The sight that met his eyes when he opened the door, though, wasn’t exactly what he expected. 

The quilt that covered the bed was pulled up at the head of the bed, and it was tied to the top of the headboard, essentially turning the king sized bed into a tent. The room was dark, except for the flashlights that were bobbing about inside of the quilt. He could hear whispering and giggles, which in turn caused his face to break into a grin.  _Looks like bedtime was a bust_ , he thought to himself as he quietly made his way into the bedroom. 

Mark approached the bed quietly before sticking his head underneath the quilt at the top of the bed. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gauged the reaction his family gave him. Before he could even get out a greeting, Bridget, Will and Mabel all let out a frightened squeal at his sudden appearance. 

Cringing, Mark quickly said, “It’s just me! It’s Dad!” He watched Bridget roll onto her back and clutch her chest while he saw the dawn of recognition light up his children’s faces. 

“Daddy!” they squeaked, clambering out of the tent and launching themselves at Mark. 

Mark caught them with as much grace as possible, pulling them in close to him and planting several kisses on each of their faces. “Hello, my ducklings,” he said, giving them a squeeze. “What do we have going on here?” 

“Mummy is reading us a book!” Will exclaimed. 

“Oh, is she? And which book have you chosen tonight?” 

“Which one  _haven’t_  they chosen?” Bridget said, finally emerging from the tent. “I think we’ve read every single book they have.”

Mark chuckled. He still wasn’t ready to put the children down–Will was hanging off of one hip, his hand on Mark’s shoulder as he stoically looked down at Bridget, and Mabel had nuzzled into the crook of Mark’s neck with a contented sigh. He pressed a kiss against Mabel’s hair before putting them back down on the bed. 

“Why don’t I read one before we shove off to dreamland?” Mark said. Will bounced on the pillows with a grin, and Mabel clapped her hands. “Very well, then. Let me rinse off and get into my pajamas, and I’ll be back in two shakes.” He watched the two of them burrow back into the tent before heading to the en suite. 

Less than ten minutes later, Mark emerged from the en suite in clean pajamas and with damp hair. The room was still pitch black, except for the flashlights underneath the quilt. He gave Bridget’s leg a squeeze before making his way to the other side of the bed and climbing in underneath the tented blanket. Once underneath, he bracketed the children between himself and Bridget. She gave him a loving look from across the mattress–her head was propped up on a bent elbow and her other arm was protectively draped around Will’s torso. 

“We missed you,” she murmured. 

“And I, you,” Mark said. “What book have you all decided on?” Mabel, who had curled herself into the warmth of her father’s chest, propped a book up in front of his face (with uncomfortable closeness). Mark pulled back to look at the cover and then chuckled. “Ah,  _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie._  Wonderful choice.” 

Settling his glasses on his face, Mark started to read in a low, quiet voice. The rumble of his voice was soothing, vibrating with emotion and gentleness as he pulled Mabel in closer to him. He could already feel her breathing steadying, and when he glanced over at Bridget, he could see her eyes soft with sleep and Will’s completely closed. By the time he had gotten to the very last page of the book, both children were completely out. 

Mark leaned back delicately to place the book on the floor. Mabel stirred, but simply pressed herself closer to Mark as he brought his arm back around to hold her close. Will was completely passed out in Bridget’s arms, his mouth slack and hair mussed. Bridget looked at him over the heads of their children, her face illuminated by the slowly dying flashlight they had propped up with pillows. Her eyes were heavy, but her lips were curled into an adoring smile. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” she whispered, reaching out to take his free hand. Mark laced his fingers with hers, bringing them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. 

“So am I. How many books did it take you this time?” 

“Fifteen.”

Mark huffed a laugh out. “New record?” 

“I’d say. Felt more like fifteen thousand.” Bridget paused as she continued to gaze at him adoringly. “You always manage to get them to sleep on the first try.”

“It probably works in my favor that it’s almost 2:00 in the morning.”

Bridget let out a hum of approval. She sighed, pressing a gentle kiss against their son’s hair. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with exhaustion. 

“I love you,” she said as she lay her head down on the pillow. 

“I love you, too,” Mark replied. He kissed her hand one more time before clicking off the flashlight. “Goodnight, darling.”

The only response he got was a soft snore from Bridget’s side of the bed.


End file.
